


He Who Must Not Be Disobeyed

by BrandonStrayne, Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum



Series: Maître!verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad Kelpie, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dildos, Dom/sub, Equal Nipple Play, Family Drama, FiftyShadesButSexy, Friendship, Good Kelpie, M/M, Potterotica Podcast, Sex Club, Sex Toys, Slash, Smut, Top Gellert, Wands Up, Wax Play, We defenestrated canon because genocide isn't sexy, bottom albus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 04:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum
Summary: This work was written for the Potterotica Podcast Season 8 Grindeldore writing contest.When a young and curious Albus Dumbledore attends a London sex club for the first time, he doesn’t know what to expect. His close friend, Bathilda Bagshot, assures him that there is something for everyone at the club. Despite his initial trepidations, Albus may have found just what he has always been looking for in the form of the enigmatic and alluring dom that everyone calls Maître de la Petite Mort…





	1. Fantastic Kinks and Where to Find Them

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to our beta readers, [Drarryismymuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn/pseuds/Drarryismymuse) and [Nymphadorable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphadorable/pseuds/Nymphadorable) for their invaluable advice, words of encouragement, and insights!
> 
> This story was selected to be featured on Season 8 of the [Potterotica Podcast](https://potteroticapodcast.com/).
> 
> This story features a sex club that has BDSM elements in it, but which also features alcohol being served. There is no incidence in this story of characters drinking anything and then engaging in any sexual scenario, however we wanted to advise readers that are members of the scene that this may be jarring. Although it may not be common for alcohol to be served in these types of establishments in the US today, some clubs in the UK do currently still serve alcohol. Additionally, this story is set in 1903/1904, when the times were very different. Homosexuality was still illegal in the UK, so we envisioned this club more as a multipurpose safe space for members of the wizarding community, both gay and straight, to explore their sexuality during a time where it was still very much repressed. As such, we have included a bar in this establishment, but have made every attempt to ensure that this does not lead to any dubious consent issues.

 

 

 

“I...I don’t know if I can do this Bathilda.” Albus looked around the dark club in trepidation. He never would have guessed that the faded advertisement for Mrs Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover at the end of the dark offshoot of Knockturn Alley was a concealed entrance to this underground club. Looking around at the various patrons around him, he could see that someone had a macabre sense of humour when they vandalized the slogan: “ ~~No~~ Pain, No Stain!”

 

Red wax candles floated in the air, casting dim lighting on the room. The walls to their left were lined with booths that were made of a dark, almost black, wood but were upholstered in a rich, purple velvet material. As his eyes scanned the booths, he saw a witch wearing—well, wearing very little actually, her robe having added some rather strategic slits that only left a thin strap of material covering her groin and the robe unbuttoned at the top and gaping, just barely covering her breasts—slither underneath the table at the behest of the wizard beside her, and judging by the way the wizard’s eyes rolled back, his jaw went slack, and his hands moved to his lap, Albus couldn’t imagine she had merely dropped her wand. There was definitely a “wands up” situation transpiring.

 

When the wizard’s head came forward, he opened his eyes and his piercing stare landed on Albus. A satisfied smirk bloomed on his lips and he seemed to give a strong thrust of his hips, causing a thunking sound to reach Albus’ ears and a disgruntled moan arose from under the table. Albus cleared his throat and looked away quickly, feeling his cheeks warm with his embarrassment at getting caught out. Out of the corner of his eyes Albus could see the witch ascend from the floor and the wizard grab her by the waist and deposit her in front of him on the table. The strategic strip of fabric was flipped over her shoulder as she leaned back on her hands and the man tucked into his meal...of sorts.

 

Albus hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect when Bathilda had offered to bring him to this private den of iniquity, but he was starting to get a much clearer picture. He was going to need a drink.

 

Bathilda was looking down at her, frankly obscene, cleavage which was spilling out over the bustier she had on. Based on the looks she was receiving from various wizards, and a few witches, around the room, the bustier’s effects were appreciated by many, if not by him. The cleavage may not be doing anything for him, but he had to admit that the deep blue brocade material paired with the multi-tiered moonstone necklace that was dangling between her breasts was a pleasing combination. It gave her an air of mystery and reminded him a bit of a crystal ball used for divination. He knew better than to mention that to her though; she had made her disdain for Divination very obvious ever since his family had moved to Godric’s Hollow when he was 10.

 

Bathilda reached in and adjusted her breasts in the bustier, then cupped them from below and gave them a few quick hefts, until she seemed satisfied in their arrangement.

 

“I told you, in here I’m not Bathilda. I’m Mistress BeeBee. Anonymity is a big part of what keeps this place safe, so it’s important for you to remember that.” Albus nodded his understanding; it was just that it was beyond a little weird to call someone that used to babysit you “Mistress”.

 

“Do you want me to take you around and show you—”

 

“NO! No, that’s...um...I’ll be fine on my own,” Albus interrupted her before she could finish the offer. He still couldn’t believe that she’d managed to talk him into coming to a sex club in the first place, but the thought of exploring the place with her...he didn’t think there was a _Priapo_ charm strong enough to overcome that level of awkwardness.

 

Bathilda—Mistress BeeBee—gave him a kind smile, “Okay, just remember what I told you. As long as you keep that masquerade mask on, no one will be able to tell your identity. They’re enchanted with a glamour charm that will make it impossible for anyone to remember specifics about you. You’ll appear just as you are, but the memories will be blurred if anyone tries to recall your specifics.”

 

Albus reached up to the ornate mask that was a rich orange-red colour and that flared out at the temples like wings of fire. When Bathilda had offered him a choice of masks, he had immediately gone for this one because it reminded him of a phoenix; he’d always wanted a phoenix for a pet as a child.

 

Bathilda held up her right hand, back facing Albus, “That ring I gave you is the safety precaution. It will glow with colour depending on your mood. Everyone in here knows the rule that if it’s glowing red, the scene stops. Immediately. No questions. The scene is about safety, and if you’re ever feeling unsafe, the ring will glow red and let them know that. A yellow glow will indicate that you’re approaching your limits, and your partner will know to ease up. Green means that you want them to continue with what they’re doing.”

 

Albus looked down at the ring on his right hand, which was a murky brown, broadcasting the confusion, fear, and intrigue that was swirling inside of him. It looked a bit like billywig sting slime.

 

Bathilda reached down and clasped his hand, “Take a look around and try to enjoy yourself. If you want to leave at any time, just come find me and we’ll go. Okay?”

 

Albus took a deep, fortifying breath and squared his shoulders. He could do this. Dropping Bathilda’s hand, he walked deeper into the club. First order of business? A very stiff drink.

 

Albus skirted the edge of the dance floor, watching as witches and wizards swayed to the haunting melodies that were coming from the live band playing on the stage. Only, this dancing was not like anything he’d seen at any of the society balls he’d been to. The partners (or in some cases more) were so close that there was not a breath of space between them. And they were arranged in every combination imaginable. Albus watched as a tall blonde wizard bent down and kissed his brunette wizard companion, their mouths opening and tongues stroking against each other. Albus felt a frisson of excitement arc down his spine and into his cock. He looked down to see the ring change colour, taking on a more yellowish hue, like sun-baked grass.

 

Pulling his eyes away from the writhing bodies on the dance floor, Albus continued his trek to the bar. Spotting an empty stool, he slid onto it and was just about to place his order when he processed what he was seeing. The bartender’s paprika-coloured hair hung loose around his face, reaching down past his shoulders and Albus could see small braids worked through the hair at various points. With hair like that, he must be either a Prewett or a Weasley. The long hair gave his face a softness that belied the rest of him, because his legs were clad in skin-tight, iridescent dragon leather that made Albus wish he could peel them off...slowly. Albus’ eyes roamed up the ridges of his abs and got stuck on the golden chain that was dangling between piercings in the two dusky nipples.

 

“What can I get you?” The bartender’s enquiry, delivered with a twitching smile, interrupted Albus’ hand, which seemed to have been extending towards the man, wanting to give the chain a soft tug to see what kind of effect it had. Albus regained his composure through force of will, placing his hand firmly in his lap and out of trouble...but he couldn’t help but notice the growing stiffness between his legs.

 

“Dragon Barrel Brandy, please.”

 

The bartender turned around and perused the shelves of liquor behind him before spotting the bottle and _Accioing_ it down from the top shelf. Taking a deep breath, he blew on the bottle, a small cloud of dust billowing into the air. Grabbing a glass, he opened the bottle and poured a generous amount out before pushing the glass across the bar to Albus.

 

“We don’t get a lot of brandy drinkers in here, but it should still be fine. Give it a try.”

 

Albus reached out and took a tentative sip; the bite of alcohol had diminished somewhat, but it still tasted pretty good. It would do to calm his frayed nerves. Albus reached into his robes to pull out his coin purse, but before he could untie it, the bartender told him to put his money away.

 

“That bottle must be older than you, so if anything you’re doing me a favour. One less bottle to dust.” At this, Albus gave the bartender an accusing look, his eyes darting down to the dust-encrusted bottle. The bartender gave a small chuckle, “It’s on my to do list! So you must be new here. I haven’t seen you around before, at least, I haven’t seen that mask before.”

 

Albus had almost forgotten he was wearing the mask. “Why aren’t you wearing a mask? Aren’t you worried that someone will recognize you?”

 

“Not really. I was fortunate enough to be born into a Pure-blood family that wasn’t born with a pole already inserted up their backside. I waited until I was 17 for that.” The bartender gave Albus a cheeky wink and Albus couldn’t quite believe how forthcoming he was being. A hand extended out to him and he took it, the two shaking hands, “I’m Capra Prewett, but my friends call me Kay.” So he was right. That hair really is a dead giveaway.

 

Albus was caught up in his own musings and it was a moment before he realized that they were still awkwardly shaking hands, an amused smirk on Capra’s lips, “And you are…?”

 

“Wulf.” He wasn't sure why he used one of his middle names. He guessed partly because he wasn’t as brave as Capra and wanted to maintain some anonymity. Besides, he’s got an overabundance of middle names, so might as well get some use out of them. And Wulf sounds dangerous and sexy.

 

“Sexy name, Wulf.” At Capra’s compliment, Albus couldn’t help but feel vindicated in his choice. “So what brings you here?”

 

“I came with a friend. She’s left me to explore on my own.”

 

“She? Damn, and here I was hoping blokes were more your thing,” Capra’s mouth turned down in a small moue of disappointment.

 

“They are!” Albus’ eagerness was embarrassing and Capra let out a laugh at his obvious discomfort. “I mean, we’re just friends, Bath—Mistress BeeBee and I. She’s practically a sister to me.”

 

Albus’ heart ached at the reminder of the very real sister that he had lost 4 years ago. Aberforth still blamed him for the death of both her and their mother, insisting that if Albus hadn’t been travelling and was home, helping his mother take care of the vulnerable Ariana, he could have done something to prevent it. He knew that Aberforth felt guilty about being at Hogwarts at the time, wishing that there was something he could have done for the sister that he adored so much. Ariana and Aberforth had always been like two puffskeins in a poffle and Aberforth had been crushed by her death. Albus could only hope that his brother would eventually come around.

 

“Odd club to come to with your sister, mate.” Albus is shaken out of his morose thoughts by Capra’s irreverence. “Unfortunately for me, I have a rule that I don’t date the clientele. Too bad, because you are downright adorable, but I’m sure you’ll find someone else to keep you busy.”

 

Albus couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at Capra’s gentle rejection and he took a slug of brandy to ease the sting. Which was a mistake—brandy is _definitely_ not the ideal beverage for that kind of drinking. Albus coughed, spluttering a bit before his throat finally stopped its spasming. He cleared his throat and then asked, “So...any tips for where I should start?”

 

“You may as well take advantage of that liquid courage you just dosed yourself with and check out the back rooms. There’s an assortment of rooms back there that cater to just about every kink you could ever imagine.” Capra cocked his head toward a door to the right that Albus hadn’t noticed before. Not surprising, really, since there was nothing at all remarkable about the door, which was painted a solid black and did not give any indication that there was anything of interest behind it. Had Capra not mentioned it, Albus would have assumed it was a broom closet.

 

Throwing back the last mouthful of brandy—ugh, he really needs to stop doing that—Albus stood up from his stool and squared his shoulders, ready to face whatever lay behind that innocuous rectangle of wood. He noticed that the ring was now glowing a pale green. That stiff drink did wonders, not to mention the charming ginger serving them. “Thank you, Capra. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

 

“You too, you big, bad Wulf. Have fun back there, and if you need any more liquid courage, you know where to find me.” Capra gave him another quick wink before turning around, heading to the other end of the bar where an annoyed man was waving his hand in the air, trying to get Capra’s attention.

 

Albus cautiously approached the black door. Glancing at his ring again, the colours swirled a mixture of dark green and orange, indicating his excitement and nervousness at what delights lay behind the mysterious black door. Gathering his courage, he pushed the door open and entered a long, dimly-lit corridor with several other identical plain black doors on either side. Unsure of what he’d find, Albus resolved to explore each door in turn in the hopes of finding something to his liking.

 

Reaching for the door closest to him on his left, he slowly turned the handle and peered inside. This room was as dimly lit as the corridor, but its interior was sumptuously decorated with velvet sofas and large silk cushions strewn across the floor. Soft music and moans emanated from the room as the many inhabitants in various states of undress pleasured one another. One woman lay sprawled on a large, velvet recliner with a man buried between her legs while two women took turns kissing her and teasing her nipples. Albus watched proceedings for a few moments but had no real interest in participating. Quietly closing the door behind him, he reached to open the next door.

 

Albus flinched as he opened the door and heat billowed out of the room and into the corridor. Curiosity piqued, he popped his head through the door and was met with a room that was disturbingly similar in appearance to the Prefect’s Bathroom at Hogwarts; a brightly lit room with a large swimming pool-like tub in the centre filled with foam, bubbles and bodies. Lots and lots of bodies. The air was thick with a heady mix of sweat, perfume from the bath oils, and the unmistakable smell of sex. Albus’ attention was drawn to one particular gentleman submerged waist-deep in the shallow end of the pool. His tanned body, slick with water and perspiration, was bent over the edge of the pool as his partner thrust into him from behind, knocking grunts of pleasure out of him as the water sloshed over the pool’s edge and across the tiled floor. The gentleman certainly looked like he was enjoying himself immensely, but despite a slight stirring in Albus’ trousers at the sight, it wasn’t exactly what he was after. Albus was looking for something...more.

 

With each successive room he explored, Albus was becoming increasingly despondent; however visually impressive it was to come across a room full of couples suspended magically in mid-air having sex, it was a bit vanilla for his liking. The Pensieve Room was probably more exciting for those engaged in reliving memories (or other people’s memories) of their wildest sexual experiences. But from a voyeur’s point of view, watching people stooped motionless, face deep in pensieves wasn’t just boring, it was kind of creepy. Albus quickly retreated from that room.

 

The Polyjuice Room was by far the most amusing one to stumble across—women transfiguring into men’s bodies stood in front of full length mirrors, exploring their new and unfamiliar body parts while men transfigured as women fondled their breasts with the giddy fascination of school boys. Albus rolled his eyes as he closed the door on this room. He had about as much desire to be a woman as he did to be with one.

 

Pushing the next door open, Albus peered inside and gasped. It took his brain a few moments to process what he was actually seeing. The floor appeared to be a writhing mass of fur, but on closer inspection he realised that it was some two dozen men and women (he couldn’t distinguish between the two) dressed as a variety of animals engaged in a mass orgy on the floor. He couldn’t help but stare with morbid fascination as crups and kneazles crawled on all fours, sniffing, rimming, and humping each other furiously, a loud chorus of yips, yelps, and howls filling the room. Albus could see tails of all shapes, sizes, colours, and even some forked variants, wagging with enchantments, disappearing between exposed cheeks as the seething bodies moved around the room exploring one another. One of the crowd, bizarrely dressed as a giant pink puffskein, caught Albus’ terrified eye. He scurried on all fours towards Albus, panting loudly.

 

“No no no no!” cried Albus before slamming the door shut again, the ring on his finger flashing an angry red.

 

“Fuck this,” he grumbled. He should never have let Bathilda talk him into coming here, he knew it was a bad idea. He hadn’t found what he had hoped to in the club, but he had definitely found his limit. He roughly pulled the ring off of his finger and turned to leave when he heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

 

A faint slapping sound pierced the otherwise silent corridor, closely followed by a sweet chorus of groans—whether it be groans of pain or pleasure he didn’t know, but the sound immediately made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He turned and listened closely. The sounds seemed to be coming from the room at the very end of the corridor. Slipping the ring back onto his finger, the gem immediately transitioned from an inert black to shining blue-green with intrigue.

 

Another slapping sound, louder this time, was quickly followed by another, deeper groan, sending a pleasant shiver up his spine. Even though he hadn’t seen what was happening, the noises emanating from the room made his pulse race. Turning on his heel, he marched past the other rooms to find the source of the sweet music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First episode read aloud by the amazing trio at the Potterotica Podcast can be found here. Enjoy!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/show/3CY8n1E7kYmFMMiOrv2ChC


	2. Master of the Little Death

Striding into the last room at the end of the long corridor, Albus was met with a large group of spectators all standing transfixed by the sight before them. There were so many people in the room that Albus couldn’t see what was happening, even on his tiptoes. Another loud  _ crack  _ punctuated the silence and an audible shiver rippled through the room; the unmistakable sound of hard leather making contact with soft flesh was music to Albus’ ears. He carefully pushed his way to the front to get a better view. 

 

As the crowd of bodies moved aside and Albus finally got a look at the show taking place, his mouth went dry and he could feel his cock flood with excitement—in the centre of the room a wizard hung suspended from the ceiling by magical bonds. His arms and legs were arranged spread-eagle, a thin triangle of fabric covering his manhood the only piece of clothing he had on. As his body slowly rotated around an invisible axis, Albus could see thin straps running between his legs and up along the curves of his arse, attaching to the strap around his waist, leaving his round arse exposed to everyone—an arse which was blooming a beautiful shade of red.

 

Albus’ eyes were pulled from the strung-up wizard to the man slowly circling the opening of the gathered crowd. Albus was surprised to see that he was fully dressed; he could have easily passed for a society gentleman with his three piece suit, the wide collar done up to the very top. The wizard was the picture of composure, and Albus would be tempted to laugh at the bowler hat on the wizard’s head if it weren’t for the feral look on the face. That look brooked no levity. It was feral...carnal....intense. The mirth died on Albus’ lips as he watched the svelte wizard circle his prey.

 

In a flash, the stalking wizard’s arm shot out and a loud smack reverberated around the room; the bound wizard’s body jerked, a fresh bloom of red erupting on the fleshy cheeks. Albus could see the wizard’s cock peeking out the top of the tight material, already moistened from his excitement as his body continued to be wracked by shivers. As his body slowly rotated around to display his backside to Albus, he noticed a faint outline of a vaguely familiar design on the rubicund cheek. Albus could just barely make out a familiar—but modified—design on the inflamed arse before another blow was imparted and the submissive wizard’s body arched, whether in pain or pleasure would be hard to tell if not for the ring glowing green on the wizard’s bound hand.

 

Without warning, three harsh strikes landed on the contused arse and the bound wizard cried out in a mix of sting and satisfaction as the stimulation became too much and his excitement erupted out of the tip of his cock, tucked into the waistband of his scant covering.

 

The dominant wizard’s eyes shot up and before Albus could realize what was happening, he was trapped in the captivating gaze. The cerulean beam that met his felt like a  _ petrificus totalus _ , rendering him immobile and powerless under the weight of their sultry gaze. Albus felt the piercing glare drill into him before it slipped down to the band around his finger and flared wide, the wizard took a visible inhale at the sight. Albus’ gaze slipped down to the ring to see it luminescing a pale blue; he wasn’t sure what that meant, BeeBee had only said the ring glowed in a range from red to green, but the commanding wizard with the paddle seemed to think the colour significant.

 

Albus’ eyes crawled back up the man’s body to find the eyes, the colour of which he tried to commit to memory only to have it slip through his mind like smoke, fixated on his own. Without breaking their gaze, the other wizard removed his wand from its holster, strapped to his thigh, and released the bonds suspending the satiated wizard from his bondage.

 

It became too much when the other wizard’s tongue extended out, licking the cupid’s bow of his lip, and Albus turned away, making his way back through the crowd, who were suddenly pressing too closely against his overheated skin. Breaking through the packed bodies, Albus grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open in relief, barreling out into the hallway and rushing back down towards the main club area. Obviously his liquid courage was due for a refill.

 

Albus stumbled his way back to the bar in the dance area and tried to signal Capra, but the man was busy at the far end of the bar with another customer and didn’t see him. Albus bounced on the balls of his feet, nervously chewing on his thumbnail, silently pleading that Merlin would shine down on him and Capra would notice him there. He felt deeply unsettled, like he had a chortle of chizpurfles crawling around under his skin, and he needed a drink to settle his nerves.

 

Albus’ nervous fidgeting came to a screeching halt when a wall of warmth stepped up behind him and he felt a firm body rub against his. Every nerve ending in Albus’ body went on high alert, desperately waiting for stimuli from the wizard that Albus knew without looking was standing behind him.

 

“What’s the rush, little Kelpie?” A deep, masculine voice whispered into Albus’ ear, sending shivers down his body.

 

“I don’t…” Albus paused, having to swallow because his mouth was suddenly flooded with moisture, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Albus licked his dry lips and a soft chuckle grazed across his hypersensitive nerve endings.

 

Albus felt a hand, fingertips satin soft, graze against his temple and pull his hair back behind his ear, leaving his skin exposed and all the more sensitive. Before he could realize what he’d done, his head canted to the left, exposing his neck to the stranger behind him and his skin ignited when the stranger leaned down and inhaled the scent of Albus’ skin.

 

A thin-fingered hand suddenly wrapped around Albus’s neck from the left, jerking his head back to rest on the shoulder behind him, his ear grazing across the long-past-5-o’clock shadow of the man behind him. The grip was firm, but not restricting—keeping Albus’ upper body held flush against the chiseled flesh—as the man’s right hand reached around and sprawled across his lower abdomen, pulling his lower body back against the seductive wizard.

 

“I think you know exactly what I mean, little Kelpie,” the man gloated as he nuzzled his chin against Albus’s tender neck. “That ring tells me exactly what you’re wanting right now, and it’s not for me to stop.” At that, the man rolled his lower body against Albus’ behind, eliciting a sharp inhale of breath and Albus felt his cock stiffen and rub against the fabric of his bulky robe. He was glad that he had opted for the traditional wizard attire, which at least somewhat hid his current predicament.

 

“Just because I may be interested...in general...doesn’t mean I want to get off in a crowded club.” Albus’ voice was a little breathy, but he meant it; his body may be having a primordial reaction to this man, but he was definitely not ready to pursue anything physical in front of a group of strangers.

 

There was a brief pause and then the hands slid away and the wizard slipped into the space against the bar to his right. Albus took a steadying breath and focused on releasing the accumulated tension in his muscles before turning to face the wizard next to him. The man’s mask was a simple black leather opera mask, which covered the top portion of his face and extended down to the end of his nose. The simplicity of the mask seemed fitting; this man oozed sexual magnetism and appeal and fancy adornments would seem like overkill.

 

“Can I buy you a drink then?”

 

Albus realized he’d been staring at the man, trying to commit the features he could see to memory, but was frustrated to find that once he looked away, the perfect curve of those lips would float away and become a vague impression instead. He was desperate to study the wizard’s face free of the anonymity mask. “Oh…um...sure. Dragon Barrel Brandy, please?”

 

“Are you asking for my permission? Because if so, I definitely approve.” The wizard’s gravelly voice was like a blessing to Albus’ ears and all thoughts escaped his mind when the man lifted his hand and ran a single finger down Albus’ arm, from shoulder to fingertip. How could such an innocuous gesture practically make his knees buckle? He had to pull himself together.

 

“Dragon Barrel Brandy, please and thank you.” He tried to instill his voice with more confidence and make it a statement, but a small upturn of the lips graced the wizard’s mouth.

 

“So polite. What a good boy you are,” the wizard mocked him softly before he turned his attention to the bar and, placing his fingers between those oh-so-soft-looking lips, let out a loud whistle. Capra’s head turned their way and he thought he caught a quick eye-roll before the man made his way down the bar to them.

 

“Big, Bad Wulf. Didn’t expect to see you back here so soon,” Capra’s eyes slid over to the magnetic wizard beside him, “and looks like you’ve found yourself a … friend.” Capra eyed the wizard with a look of dislike.

 

Albus was surprised when the wizard beside him gave the bartender a predatory smile, more a baring of teeth than a smile. “My new friend here will have a Dragon Barrel Brandy, and a Firewhisky for me. Neat.”

 

“Yes, Sir...oh sorry, I guess that should be ‘Yes, Maître’, isn’t that right?” That time Albus definitely saw the eye-roll, and judging by the low growl that came out of his companion, so did he. Albus wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was obvious the two men weren’t particularly fond of each other.

 

“I believe my order was for ‘neat’, not ‘with sass’. You can keep your attitude to yourself and mind your own business. Your job is to keep paying customers like myself happy; I suggest you remember that.”

 

Capra placed the drinks in front of them and gave a tight-lipped smile. “That will be 5 sickles, 19 knuts.”

 

Albus went to reach for his change purse, but a long-fingered hand stopped him, “This is on me. I said I would buy you a drink and I’m a man of my word.” The wizard dropped a golden galleon onto the bar, “Keep the change.” Albus goggled at the absurdly generous gratuity, but noticed that Capra’s body seemed to stiffen and his knuckles were white where he was pressing them against the bar.

 

After a tense few moments where the two wizards stared each other down, Capra finally relented and collected the galleon. Before he left to serve other customers, he turned toward Albus and leaned forward over the bar, bringing them closer together, and advised in a low voice, “You be careful, Wulf. Between the two of you, you’re definitely the Little Red to his big, bad wolf.”

 

“Thanks for the warning Capra, but in some versions of the tale, it’s the wolf that fares worse,” Albus replied gently. He didn’t want Capra to think he didn’t appreciate him looking out for him, but he came here because he was looking for something and he thought he may have just found it.

 

“True, but in other versions the wolf eats Red. Just be careful.” Capra leaned back, took one last appraising look at the possibly dangerous wizard to his right, and then left them alone to tend to other customers.

 

Albus took a nervous sip of his drink, his eyes darting to the side to inspect the wizard surreptitiously. The wizard was leant casually against the bar, facing Albus, and looked supremely confident and in his element. He brought the tumbler of firewhisky up to his lips and tilted it back, never removing his powerful gaze from the side of Albus’ face. After what felt like an interminable amount of silence, the wizard finally spoke.

 

“What’s your name, little Kelpie?”

 

“Why are you calling me that?”

 

“Mmmm, well...Kelpies are water demons that can take many forms, but their main form is that of a horse with a bulrush mane.”

 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Albus persisted.

 

“The moment I saw you back there, with that ring of yours glowing the most beautiful cerulean colour,” the wizard paused, running his eyes down Albus’ body in a lascivious way that made Albus’s skin tingle with excitement and the ring on his finger pulse with that very colour, “I knew that I wanted to ride you hard and put you away wet.”

 

Albus could feel the lick of heat in his face as he blushed at the base words. He couldn’t think past the shock and raw lust that was flooding his system at the moment.

 

The wizard gave a satisfied chuckle at Albus’ obvious discomfort. “That’s such a pretty shade of pink. I can’t wait to see your arse colour underneath my paddle.”

 

Albus grasped about for a change of topic, worried that he may throw caution to the wind and jump into the stranger’s arms if he kept saying such deliciously wicked things to him. “I...uh...I noticed that your paddle has a symbol cut into it. It...um...left shapes on that man’s...um...buttocks.” Albus stammered through the statement, wishing he had chosen something else because thinking about how he had watched the man writhe in ecstasy from that paddling was hardly an improvement.

 

“Noticed that, did you? It’s my calling card. My symbol, so everyone will know whose work brought such satisfaction and pleasure. All my play partners wear it with pride; I’m very selective.”

 

The wizard reached up and slid his index finger into his mouth, sucking on the digit as he slowly retracted it from between the pouty, full lips. Dropping it down to the tumbler, he ran the long, slender finger around the brim in a slow circle and a faint reverberating tone filled the air around them. Albus realized that the loud club sounds were a faint muffle in the background and wondered when the wizard had cast an  _ Aphonos _ charm without him noticing.

 

“The symbol looked familiar. Where have I seen it before?” Albus asked.

 

“From old children’s tales, I suspect,” the wizard answered, taking another sip of his firewhisky before he returned to making the glass sing, this time a higher note streamed out of the tumbler as his finger slowly circled the ridge of the glass.

 

“The Three Brothers!” Albus exclaimed, as the original image flashed through his mind. “But...The Deathly Hallows symbol only has one circle, the Resurrection Stone, but your paddle had two?”

 

“Very observant, little Kelpie. I think you definitely liked the idea of my paddle. I’ve modified the symbol to better suit my interests.” The wizard reached out and took Albus’s hand, turning it over and holding it securely, then began tracing the shape onto the palm. “The triangle to represent the jockstrap I make my subs wear—exposing their arse to my ministrations.”

 

Albus closed his eyes, remembering the sight of the bound man’s cock, hard and concealed behind the tiny shred of fabric, and the exposed bum, red from the paddling as he rotated, on display for everyone to see. Albus wasn’t sure he could expose himself like that...but he wasn’t sure he  _ couldn’t _ either.

 

The finger returned to his palm, drawing two small circles along the inside base of the triangle, the two circles linked together by a small chain at the top. “The cuffs, because I demand control and submission from my partners. Bondage is often involved in my scenes. The trust that the other person places in me, to tie them up and have my way with them—there’s nothing headier than that kind of power.”

 

Albus could definitely see the appeal of relinquishing control to someone else and not having to decide for himself and other people. Since his father’s death, Albus had taken over the role of head of the family and though he would do it again, it sometimes left him exhausted.

 

“And finally, the crop,” the finger returned, drawing a straight line down the centre of Albus’ palm, in the place of the Elder Wand. “The glorious pleasure that can be found in pain, like two sides of the same galleon.” The wizard dug his nail into Albus’ palm at the end of the stroke, sending a sharp stab of pain through his body. Albus went to pull his hand away, but the grip on his wrist tightened and the nail dug in just a second longer before lifting, and Albus felt a thrum of pleasure at the small relief.

 

“So, my little Kelpie, do you want to play?” Albus opened his eyes to see the man had moved closer, his body a breadth away from grazing Albus’ and his eyes, darkened with lust, looking down into Albus’.

 

“I—yes, but...” Albus hesitated. He hoped that his condition would not be a dealbreaker. “Not here. I...I’m not ready for that. Somewhere else.”

 

“Do you trust me enough for that, little Kelpie? This club has people that can watch out for you and make sure I don’t get you into any trouble.” The man jerked his head back towards Capra.

 

“I do, and I’m not helpless you know. I can take care of myself,” Albus answered, slightly offended that he was being treated like some feeble whelp.

 

“There’s my feisty Kelpie spirit. I’m going to enjoy taming you.” The man slid his finger along Albus’ jaw, tipping it up so that their lips were almost touching.

 

“Meet me at this address on Friday, 9 pm. Sharp. Don’t be late, little Kelpie, or I’ll have to punish you.” The man slipped a small calling card into Albus’ robe pocket as Albus leaned closer, desperate to get a taste of the man’s lips, but he pulled away before contact was made and started walking away.

 

“Wait, I didn’t even get your name!” Albus’ shout was lost as the din of the club came crashing back and the man dissolved into the crowd. Albus removed the card from his pocket and inspected it. On one side was nothing but the symbol: the triangle encompassing two circles attached by a thin, wavy line, and the straight line down the middle. Albus flipped the card over and all that was printed was a single title and an address:

 

Maître de la Petite Mort

13 Dorset Street, Spitalfields, London


	3. A Weekend in Whitechapel

Albus sat in his office late on Monday evening. He was supposed to be marking his fifth year students Transfiguration homework, but he couldn’t concentrate. Instead he sat with a worn copy of  _ Tales of Beedle the Bard _ , refreshing his memory on the  _ Tale of the Three Brothers _ . He remembered with a mixture of fondness and sadness that he used to read the tales to Ariana when she was little, the  _ Three Brothers _ being her favourite. Of course, that had been many years ago. 

 

There was a loud knock at the door and Albus jumped in his seat, snapped out of his daydream and back to reality. He quickly shoved the book under a pile of parchment and straightened his robes.

 

“Come in,” he called. 

 

Bathilda popped her head through the door and grinned mischievously at him. 

 

“Hey you,” she greeted him warmly, closing the door behind her. “Sorry I couldn’t get away sooner, classes have been manic today.”

 

Bathilda looked the picture of respectability now that she was wearing her formal professors robes, made of the same deep blue brocade material as the scant dress she had worn at the club on Saturday night. Albus was certain that this was deliberate, but he chose not to mention it. 

 

“Not to worry,” he assured her, motioning for her to take the seat in front of his desk. “I appreciate you finding the time to come and speak to me.”

 

She waved her hand dismissively as she sat down, “Trust me, I’d much rather hang out in your office than spend my time marking another dismal essay on goblin rebellions. And this is the first chance I’ve had to come speak to you about the club after you left without telling me!”

 

“Yes, I wanted to have a word with you about the club,” he replied slowly, wringing his hands nervously in his lap. He was in two minds about whether or not he should meet with the man he met at the club. It had seemed like an undeniable imperative at the time, but once the harsh light of day had dawned, Albus had begun to wonder what he was thinking. He didn’t know anything about the man other than that he made him want to submit to his every demand. He wanted Bathilda’s advice on the matter. Seeing how awkward and uncertain he looked, she frowned.

 

“Oh no, did you not like it?” she asked, sounding disappointed. Albus shrugged.

 

“Not everything there, but some things appealed to me,” he admitted. Bathilda smiled like a Cheshire cat.

 

“Really? Do tell! Did you see something, or someone, you liked?” she asked keenly. 

 

“Maybe…” he began evasively. “Have you ever heard of Maître de la Petite Mort?”

 

Bathilda’s smile faltered. 

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” she confirmed, crossing her arms. “He’s pretty well known in the club, actually. Why, was he bothering you?”

 

“No, he was perfectly respectable I’ll have you know,” he replied defensively. Well, pressing his erection against Albus’ arse perhaps wasn’t all that gentlemanly, but he had relented at Albus’ request. A shiver traversed his spine at the mere memory of the wizard’s body pressed flush against his own. Pushing that pleasant thought to one side, he cleared his throat and added lightly, “We chatted for a bit at the bar and he bought me a drink. He seemed nice enough to me.”

 

Bathilda snorted, “In the whole time I’ve been frequenting that club I’ve never heard anyone describe the Maître as ‘nice’.”

 

“So you know a little bit about him?” he asked interestedly.

 

“Personally, not much. His kinks aren’t compatible with mine, and I’m definitely not his type. But he has a reputation for being intense.”

 

“Intense?” he asked curiously. “But not a bad reputation?”

 

“No, not a bad one,” she relented. “But from what others have said, he expects complete and utter submission from his playmates.” Goosebumps erupted across Albus’ flesh at the thought of being at the mercy of the powerful wizard. 

 

“ I watched one of his sessions once, out of curiosity,” Bathilda continued. “He used a riding crop on this guy, whipping him over and over again. The guy was loving it, but I realised very quickly that sexual gratification from inflicting pain on a submissive was definitely not my thing.”

 

Bathilda shivered involuntarily at the thought, but upon seeing Albus’ cheeks flush red with embarrassment she quickly raised her hands defensively, “I’m not trying to shame you, Al. We all have our own fantasies and desires and I’m about as open to exploration as they come, so if you’ve discovered something that you want to explore then I’m glad you’ve found somewhere safe that you can do that.”

 

“Appreciate it,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze. 

 

“So...does that mean you’re coming back to the club this weekend to meet up with him?” she asked curiously. 

 

Albus hesitated before answering, “Not exactly…”

 

Bathilda’s frown deepened, “Surely you’re not thinking of going to  _ his  _ place?”

 

“Well, my tastes may be particular, but I’m not an exhibitionist,” he explained. “I can barely  _ talk _ to you about this, let alone be put on display to a room full of strangers. I want to be able to explore my tastes privately.”

 

“But you don’t even know this guy,” Bathilda warned. “You don’t know what he really looks like, you don’t even know his real name.”

 

“And he doesn’t know mine,” he pointed out. “I know where he lives, so really I know more about him than he does about me; I have the upper hand.”

 

“You won’t once he’s got you strung up in his dungeon,” she grumbled. Albus glared at her.

 

“Just because I’m new to this doesn’t mean I should be treated like some feeble whelp,” he snapped. “I’m more than capable of looking out for myself.”

 

“I know you are, but…” Bathilda sighed and shook her head. “Look, you’re your own man and I know once you’ve set your mind on doing something there’s no talking you out of it. I just want you to be safe, Al. Can you at least tell me where you’re going so if anything does go wrong I’ll know where to find you?”

 

Albus glared at her defiantly for a moment then sighed, “Fine.” He snatched a spare piece of parchment and scribbled down the address, “I’m going there on Friday night. If I’m not back by Monday--”

 

“Monday?” cried Bathilda, aghast. Albus ignored her outburst and continued.

 

“If I’m not back by Monday, then feel free to send a search party,” he slid the parchment across the table towards her. “I appreciate you still looking out for me, but I’m a big boy, Bathilda. I’ll be fine.”

 

Bathilda took the piece of paper and glowered at it as though it had a particularly offensive insult written on it. Folding it in half, she tucked it down her robes between her breasts for safekeeping.

 

“You were always a wild one,” she sighed, shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you?” Bathilda gave Albus a scrutinising look, “I suppose it explains how often you got in trouble as a tyke though. I think you got more tannings than your brother and sister combined.”

 

There was nothing that Bathilda could do to tame Albus, but he was keen to let one man in particular try just that. 

 

  


Albus Apparated to the corner of Dorset Street a little before nine o’clock that Friday evening. He had been past this street before and he knew it was not a place where those of a respectable nature tended to linger, even in the daytime. By night, the short, narrow street comprised mainly of doss-houses was even less welcoming; Albus pulled his cloak closer to his neck and kept his head bowed as he quickly walked past the many hoodlums, pickpockets and toms that milled around the street, looking for work and strangers to fleece. A couple of girls called after Albus, offering him a good time, but he paid them no mind. He heard them calling him a wanker before turning their attention to new, more eager suitors who had just entered the dingy street. 

 

Albus slowed then came to a stop outside a small, whitewash building that ominously (or perhaps on this street, wisely) had bars on the small windows. Albus checked the address on the card again. This was definitely the place. He flipped the card over and over in his hand nervously, fear and excitement traversing through him at the thought of what lay waiting for him behind this innocuous front door. Albus had never let fear of the unknown stop him before and he certainly wasn’t going to let it get the better of him now. Gathering all of his courage, he knocked on the door and waited.

 

After a few moments the door opened and Albus’ breath hitched at the sight of the man before him. While the man who called himself the Maître had worn a mask at the club...this man wore no such disguise. Without the glamour charm Albus could see how handsome the man really was; pale and sharp-featured with golden blond hair that brushed his broad shoulders, his plump pink lips were drawn into a teasing smile that lit up his whole face. Albus tore his eyes away from that perfect mouth and towards his eyes, and noticed curiously that they were the same shade of cerulean that his ring had turned to when they had met at the club. 

 

“Welcome,” Gellert greeted him. “You’re late, little Kelpie.”

 

Albus frowned and checked his pocket watch, “It’s only a minute past nine.”

 

“I told you not to be late or I’d have to punish you,” he reminded Albus lightly. “Or maybe you want me to punish you, hmm?”

 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at those words and any doubts he had about coming here immediately evaporated. He cleared his throat and replied hoarsely, “I’m ready and willing to be punished for my tardiness.”

 

Gellert grinned broadly, “Good boy. Please, come in.”

 

He took an elaborate step back and beckoned Albus into his home. Albus lowered the hood of his cloak, better to take in his new surroundings. Like most wizarding abodes, the interior was much more luxurious than their modest exteriors; the walls were covered in dark wooden panelling, complimented by highly-polished, dark wood flooring covered in thick, silk Moroccan rugs. Everything in the house—from the dark gothic furniture, the velvet and silk upholstery to the low-hanging crystal chandelier that hung overhead in the sitting room—screamed luxury. 

 

“You have a lovely home,” Albus noted, standing awkwardly by the sitting room door.

 

“Thank you,” he replied. “Please, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink?”

 

“Just water, please,” he asked, sinking into a stiff, camelback sofa.

 

“Good choice, I wouldn’t want you to be inebriated for our time together,” Gellert smiled. He clicked his fingers and two glass tumblers filled with crystal clear liquid appeared in his hands. He handed a glass to Albus, lightly brushing their fingers together in the exchange before taking a seat in a nearby parlour chair. He raised his glass and cheered, “To new friends.”

 

Albus raised his glass and mumbled ‘to new friends’ before downing the water nervously . Gellert watched Albus intently. 

 

“You’ve worn the mask again,” he noted with interest. “Is that part of your fetish?”

 

Albus shook his head, “No, I just wasn’t sure if you would be wearing yours. And...I suppose there’s a certain safety with anonymity.”

 

Gellert nodded in agreement, “That makes sense. Although, in order for us to play together, a certain level of trust and intimacy must be established between the dominant and submissive.”

 

“How can I trust you if I don’t know you?” asked Albus uncertainly. Gellert smiled.

 

“Trust is earned, my little Kelpie. Trust, safety and surrender are the central tenets of any sub/dom relationship and it’s my job as the dom to earn your trust and not to abuse it,” he explained. “So tell me, what do I have to do to earn your trust?”

 

Albus thought for a moment. It certainly seemed as though despite being the submissive, he held all of the power here. 

 

“An Unbreakable Vow of Chastity,” Albus suggested. “You break your promise and tell anyone who I really am, you lose the ability to achieve orgasm.”

 

Gellert was silent for a few moments, deep in thought as he considered the terms, his eyes burning into Albus’ and making him squirm, then gave a curt nod, “If an Unbreakable Vow of Chastity will make you feel more at ease, then I accept.”

 

Both men slid off their chairs and sank to their knees, facing one another as they grasped right hands. Albus drew his wand and placed the tip on their linked hands.

 

“Do you promise—on pain of perpetual arousal—to keep my true identity secret?” asked Albus.

 

“On pain of perpetual arousal, I swear I will keep your true identity a secret,” Gellert declared. A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from Albus’ wand and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire. After a few moments, the flame faded and disappeared, sealing the bond. 

 

Both men got back onto their feet, Albus feeling more at ease now. Gellert gave him an expectant look.

 

“Now you can trust me to keep your secret, will you show me your face?” he asked softly.

 

Albus hesitated a moment before removing the mask, revealing his true appearance to the Maître for the first time. The man’s pupils dilated and he instinctively reached out to stroke Albus’ cheek.

 

“You look much better without the mask,” he crooned. “What’s your name?”

 

“Wulf,” Albus replied automatically. Gellert shook his head.

 

“Your real name,” he implored, carefully pushing Albus’ long, auburn hair from his shoulders to expose his neck. 

 

“Albus,” he replied breathlessly. 

 

“Albus,” Gellert repeated, the mellifluous tone of his voice seemed to caress the word. “It suits you.”

 

“What’s your name?” Albus asked curiously, involuntarily leaning into the man’s touch as his nimble fingers traced down his neck and along his collar bone. 

 

“Gellert,” he replied, leaning so close now that their lips brushed together. “But you can call me ‘Master’.”

 

A small whine escaped Albus’ lips as he tried to temper the lust-filled haze that threatened to overwhelm him. The sultry, dangerous tone in which the Maître said the word ‘Master’ had him rock-hard and he thrust his hips forwards a little, pressing his and the Maître’s bodies together. The Maître’s eyes widened and he smiled as he felt Albus’ erection brush against his own. 

 

“Someone’s keen to get started,” he teased. “Well, now that we have covered the formalities, are you ready to play?” he whispered, continuing to tease his index finger across Albus’ nipple, giving it a light pinch through the fabric of his robes. Albus shivered at the sensation and nodded.

 

“Yes,” Albus replied, his voice low and rough. 

 

“Good boy,” said the Maître appraisingly. Turning on his heel, he inclined his head for Albus to follow, “This way.”


	4. Albus Dumbledore and the Delicious Swallow

Albus followed the Maître through the house and downstairs into the basement. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they paused in front of a door which was painted black like the ones at the club. The Maître gripped the door handle and gave Albus a wicked grin.

 

“Ready?” he asked. Albus swallowed hard and nodded, his heart was thumping so hard in his chest now it was painful. The Maître pushed the door open and he beckoned Albus inside, then closed it quietly behind him. The room was small, with the same dark wooden panelling that decorated the hall upstairs. It was dimly lit with several candles floating in mid air illuminating the small playroom in a soft glow. Albus however paid the candles and the interior decor no mind. Instead his gaze was immediately drawn to the centre of the room, his eyes widened and his cock hardened at the sight of the contraption that the Maître had laid out for him. A satisfied smile spread across the Maître’s face and he slipped his hands around Albus’ waist, resting his chin on Albus’ shoulder.

 

“Do you like what you see?” he asked softly.

 

Albus swallowed hard and nodded mutely. That he did. 

 

At the centre of the room was a wooden apparatus that resembled a pommel horse. The body was covered in black leather padding and four arms extended out from beneath it, two on either side, with padded arms and leg rests as well as a cushioned headrest at the front. Loosely wrapped around the arm and leg rests were several coils of rope, enough to stop Albus from fidgeting—or indeed, moving at all—if the Maître so pleased. His heart began to race with nerves and arousal at the thought of being strapped to the table, at the mercy of this man. There was nothing he wanted more. 

 

He couldn’t help but notice the table to the left of the leather pommel horse. A leather apron was hanging off the end and his eyes trailed across the variety of toys the Maître had laid out for him: the dragon-leather spanking paddle he had seen the Maître wielding in the club, a  metal rod with a silver wheel covered in evenly spaced sharp pins , a whipping crop, and—Albus’ breath hitched at the sight—a large, black dildo. It had three different sized bumps down the shaft, each shaped like the head of a cock. It was slightly intimidating, but Albus was still keen to experiment with it.

 

The Maître’s hand deftly slipped down the front of Albus’ trousers and gripped his already achingly hard cock. He gasped and thrust forward into the man’s fist, desperate for more contact. The Maître pressed his lips to Albus’ ear, his hot breath kissing his skin and making him shiver.

 

“I’m going to punish you for turning up late tonight,” he whispered, his hand sliding up and down Albus’ thick, slick shaft. “I’m going to bend you over that table and tie you down so you can’t move an inch, and then I’m going to use my toys to fuck with you.”

 

Albus groaned as he felt the Maître’s erection pressing into the small of his back. Without thinking, he reached out to touch it, but the man slapped his hand away.

 

“Oh, no you don’t,” he chastised. “You’ll be servicing me later, but you don’t get to touch without permission. Do you understand?”

 

Albus nodded.

 

“Aloud,” the whispered word tickled across the tiny hairs on Albus’ skin.

 

“I understand.”

 

Albus heard the rustle of clothing moments before a firm hand was covering his neck, craning his head back to rest on the shoulder behind him. “How did I tell you to address me, Kelpie?”

 

Albus wracked his brain, which was an arduous task when it felt like all of the blood in his body had flooded to his southern territory. The hand was not restricting his breathing, but it also gave no quarter, forcing his back up against the other man’s taller frame. Finally, the correct answer floated into Albus’ brain and he let out a breathy, “I understand, Master.”

 

“That’s a good boy. You will always address me as such when we’re playing.” The fingers of one hand stroked Albus’ adam’s apple, following its movement as Albus’ swallowed, while his other gave Albus’ cock a torturously slow stroke, pulling the foreskin over the glans and rubbing them together, setting off a fireworks of sensations from the nerve endings in his foreskin. “First things first, I need to punish you.” Roughly pulling his hand free from Albus’ trousers, he took a step back, his teasing smile replaced with a stony expression.

 

“Strip,” he commanded and Albus obeyed, practically tearing off his clothes. The Maître gently rested a hand on Albus’ shoulder and he paused. 

 

“Relax. Take your time,” he said soothingly. “We have all night to enjoy each other.” 

 

Albus let out a shaky breath and nodded. He began stripping again with greater care this time, his hands trembling with nervous anticipation as he struggled to undo the buttons of his shirt. He made a mental note to wear clothing that was easier to remove next time he came here—there was no doubt in his mind that he would be coming back for more in the near future. When he finally shed the last of his clothes, Albus stood naked in front of the Maître, awaiting instruction. Again, the Maître remained fully clothed, although the outline of his erection was obvious in his tight trousers. He inclined his head towards the black leather table.

 

“Climb onto the table,” he ordered. “Get on your hands and knees.”

 

Albus did as he was instructed, shaking slightly as he climbed on top of the table, resting his forearms and shins on the padded rests. The Maître picked up the first coil of rope and began fastening it around Albus’ waist. The rope looked as though it was made of spun silver and it felt silky smooth against his skin. Albus realised that it must be made of unicorn hair. An apt choice, thought Albus. Not only was unicorn hair soft to the touch, it was incredibly strong and durable. Perfect for tying someone up. 

 

“If you want to stop at any time—even if it’s just to readjust the ropes or if you get a cramp, or if you want to stop completely—the ring will let me know, but you’ll have to tell me what’s causing you discomfort. I expect you to be honest with me, do you understand?” he asked, carefully securing Albus’ torso.

 

“Understood,” he agreed quietly.

 

A sharp crack split the air and Albus’s body jolted, but he wasn’t sure whether it was from the sting of pain which was now giving way to a wonderful tingling sensation that caused his cock to give a jerk of appreciation, or if it was just from the surprise of the action. Albus swallowed, his mouth suddenly flooding with a spike of anxious excitement. Albus looked at the magical ring on his right hand and took in the swirling green liquid, that gave off a faint pulsing light. Albus licked his lips and tried again, “I understand, Master.”

 

The Maître eyed Albus appraisingly, finally seeming satisfied. The sternness melted away from his face and Albus shivered when the Maître’s voice slid down several octaves and in a gravelly voice he crooned, “Good boy.”

 

Once Albus’ upper body was fastened into place, the Maître began securing his legs, sliding the rope over his taut thighs and calves, deliberately brushing the palm of his hands over his bare flesh, teasing him even now before their play really began. It would have been easier and quicker to use his wand, but the Maître wanted to touch Albus, wanted to take his time with him. Standing behind Albus now, he pulled two ropes up between his legs and around his hips, tightening them so that they pulled his arse open, leaving his anus, cock, and balls exposed for easier access. Albus’ heart hammered hard in his chest; the Maître had barely touched him and he was already feeling light-headed. He felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable in this position, and he’d never been harder in his life. 

 

The Maître double checked that all of the ropes were secure enough to stop Albus from fidgeting, but not tight enough to cut off circulation. Finally, he took a few steps back to admire his handiwork; Albus on all fours, ass up and strapped down, completely at his mercy. 

 

“You should see yourself like this,” he sighed, nodding his head appreciatively. “You look divine.” 

 

As erotic as the sight was, the best part was the look in Albus’ eyes—complete and utter submission and trust. He circled Albus, appreciating him from all angles, coming to a stop in front of him. Making sure Albus’ gaze was fixed on him, he squeezed his erection through his tight trousers, groaning softly. Albus’ eyes glazed over and he involuntarily licked his lips. The Maître smiled, pleased that Albus was as much into this as he was. He liked this one—liked him a lot, in fact. He definitely planned on punishing Albus with pleasure tonight. That way hopefully he’d come back for more. 

 

Albus’ eyes followed the man as he moved across the room towards the table with his tools of pain and pleasure, pacing back and forth, trying to decide which one to use.

 

“Choices, choices…” he sighed, his hand hovering back and forth over the different toys. His hand lingered over the wartenberg wheel, then the paddle, but at the last moment he snatched up the black dildo. An involuntary whimper escaped Albus’ lips at the mere thought of the Maître putting it inside of him. As his erection pressed hard against the leather surface of the table, he tried rutting back and forth, desperate to increase the sensation, but he couldn’t move an inch. The Maître held out the dildo for Albus’ perusal.

 

“I’m going to fuck you with this,” he informed him matter-of-factly. Albus’ pupils were so dilated they looked almost black. “But you aren’t allowed to come until I give you permission to. Understood?”

 

“Understood, Master,” Albus replied, his voice low and rough.

 

He stepped behind Albus and marveled at the sight before him for a few moments before casting a silent lubrication spell, teasing Albus’ hole with his finger, which easily slipped inside of him. His grin broadened.

 

“Prepped yourself before coming here tonight, did you?” he chuckled. “I love how keen you are. You just want this thick, black cock inside of you now, don’t you?”

 

“Merlin, yes,” breathed Albus. A pleasant sting erupted across his bare flesh and his ass clenched around the Maître’s fingers. 

 

“What was that?” he asked sharply.

 

“Yes, Master,” Albus groaned, correcting himself. The Maître carefully removed his fingers then lightly brushed the dildo against Albus’ entrance.

 

“Ready?” he asked. Albus closed his eyes and took long, deep breaths, trying to relax. 

 

“Ready, Master,” he confirmed. Gellert began to press the dildo against Albus’ hole, meeting some resistance but slowly, gradually, the Maître pushed it further into him. Albus’ breaths were coming out in quick, hard pants as the toy slid deeper inside of him, and as the first bump slid past the tight ring of muscles, Albus’ eyes flew open and he gasped, “Oh, god!”

 

He tried arching his back as much as possible, but the ropes prevented him from moving. The Maître pulled the toy back out entirely and whispered, “Does that feel good?”

 

“Fuck yes, Master,” he groaned. The Maître smiled and proceeded to slide it back in again in long, slow strokes, over and over again, pushing Albus closer and closer to the edge. Albus tried to lean back, desperate to increase the speed and intensity of the man’s torturously slow sexual ministrations. The Maître noticed how fidgety Albus was getting and he tsked. 

 

“Quite impatient, aren’t you?” he teased. “I’ll have to punish you for that.”

 

“Yes...please...” Albus whimpered, desperate for the pain and pleasure of the Maître’s retribution. The Maître murmured a spell under his breath and enchanted the dildo to continue sliding in and out of Albus’ ass on its own while he moved round to face him, his erection pressing uncomfortably against the constraints of his trousers. 

 

Albus’ breathing was becoming increasingly ragged, his skin slick with perspiration. He was so close to coming, but he concentrated on holding off—he hadn’t been given permission to come yet. The Maître lifted Albus’ chin a little and ran his thumb over his pink, pouty lips.

 

“You’ve got a pretty mouth,” he said, his voice low and husky. “It would look even prettier wrapped around my cock”

 

Albus groaned and gave the Maître’s thumb a light suck, his piercing blue eyes fixed on Gellert’s as he did so, sending a shot of pleasure straight to the Maître’s cock. He really,  _ really  _ liked this one…

 

He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his thick, hard cock, stroking it back and forth a few times while Albus watched intently as if mesmerised by the display. He took a step closer, holding his member just out of reach of Albus’ lips.

 

“I’m going to let you suck my cock now,” he said. “But remember, don’t come until I give you permission to. Understood?”

 

“Understood, Master,” Albus replied roughly, straining to get the cock in his mouth, the dildo still slowly working its way in and out of his body. The Maître rested his free hand on the back of Albus’ head and pressed the head of his cock against Albus’ lips. Albus’ tongue swiped the tip and he shivered involuntarily at the sensation. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath in an effort to compose himself before speaking again.

 

“More?” he asked. Albus groaned in approval and the Maître gladly obliged, taking a firm grip on Albus’ silky, auburn hair and sliding himself deeper into his mouth. Albus closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, relishing the taste of the man’s sweet, swollen flesh sliding in and out of his mouth to the same rhythm as the dildo sliding in and out of his body. A thick fog of arousal clouded his mind, totally lost in the aching pleasure pulsing from his groin, growing and spreading with intensity through his body with each delicious stroke. 

 

“Fuck,” hissed the Maître as Albus began to eagerly suck his cock, tightening and relaxing his lips as the Maître slid the shaft in and out of his mouth, swirling his tongue over the tip over and over again. Despite his best efforts, the Maître was quickly losing his composure. 

 

“Merlin, you’re good at that,” he slurred. “Fuck me…”

 

Albus groaned and redoubled his efforts, the sound and vibration sending a delicious shot of pleasure through the Maître’s cock and up his spine. He gripped Albus’ hair more tightly to steady himself as his legs began to shake. Fuck, what was this guy doing to him? He was supposed to be the one in control, but here was the submissive making him weak in the knees. If he was going to maintain a modicum of control he’d need to end this now. Not that he had much choice—a few more sucks from Albus and he was going to blow his load. 

 

“I’m going to come in your mouth now,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady and authoritative. “Ready?”

 

Albus groaned eagerly, his head spinning, totally lost in the spiral of overwhelming pleasure. A crescendo of noises filled the room, the wet sound of Albus sucking cock as the dildo continued to slip in and out of his slick hole, their ragged breaths and moans and finally a sharp cry from the Maître as he came.

 

“Oh fuck!” gasped the Maître, throwing his head back and thrusting his hips forward as his cock began to pulse. “Come for me now, Albus!”

 

Finally, mercifully, Albus was allowed to come. His fingernails dug into the leather armrest, his whole body stiffened and he moaned as his orgasm took hold; for a few perfect moments Albus felt free—free from his life, from himself—and every pent up emotion inside of him, every uncertainty and fear melted away as pleasure seemed to consume him entirely. Losing control like this...it was liberating. And it was all thanks to the man before him.

 

The Maître took a couple unsteady steps back from Albus, panting hard and wiping his damp, blonde hair from his eyes. He looked down at Albus with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction.

 

“I think this could be the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership between the two of us, little Kelpie. Now swallow like a good boy.”

 

Albus was definitely a very good boy.


	5. Good Kelpie, Bad Kelpie, Black Kelpie, Blue Kelpie

Albus rushed into the Monday morning staff meeting just as Headmaster Black began going over the important notes for the teachers.

 

“Ah, Professor Dumbledore. So kind of you to grace us with your presence. You know, when I was a new professor, I was sure to pay diligent attention to my calendar and ensure I arrived on time. And as you can see, it proved worth the effort as I am now Headmaster of this illustrious institution. I suggest you practice your  _ Tempus Charms _ , or you’ll never have a chance of standing in my place.”

 

“Sorry Sir, it won’t happen again,” Albus murmured an apology, bowing his head and hustling over to the empty seat that Bathilda had saved beside her. Albus chanced a look at her as he made his way down the staff table and knew at once that he was in for a lecture from the look of annoyance on her face. But really, he  _ had _ told her that he might not be back in touch until Monday… sure, he had been half kidding when he’d said it, but she couldn’t say he hadn’t warned her. Albus cast a furtive glance up to Headmaster Black as he arrived at his chair and was relieved to see that the cantankerous man was turned away from them and was enchanting the chalk to scrawl this week’s hall monitoring schedule across the chalkboard. Albus removed his wand and discretely cast a  _ Cushioning Charm _ on the chair and eased himself carefully into it.

 

“A little sore, are we?” Bathilda leaned forward and whispered to him. The annoyed look had shifted into a smirk at Albus’ obvious discomfort. Albus pointedly ignored her teasing and she leaned back in her chair. Albus had no doubt that she would demand the specifics of his weekend activities, and he almost wished that she was still upset with him; as much as he hated her lecturing him like he was still a child, the idea of relating the specifics of what he and Gellert had done all weekend made him squirm—which set off a dull ache from the bruises blooming on his backside right now.

 

Yes, he was a little sore, and he relished it, because every dull throb of pain reminded him of Gellert and he was counting down the hours until he could get fresh ones.

  
  


 

Albus followed Gellert downstairs to the playroom, excited and curious as to what the Master had planned for him this evening. When they entered the room the first thing he noticed was that the pommel was gone. In its place were two coils of unicorn-hair rope, hanging in the centre of the room, looped through two hoops drilled into the ceiling. Albus’ heart began to race remembering the man that Gellert had suspended in the club. In that moment he had wanted more than anything else to be that man, to feel the sting of the paddle against his bare flesh. Now was his chance to experience it for himself. 

 

Gellert faced Albus and gazed at him with an expression of lust and adoration. He cupped his cheeks and whispered, “You’re going to look so beautiful dangling off of the ground, naked, completely at my mercy.” He pressed a light kiss on Albus’ lips before taking a step back, his sweet smile quickly fading into a stony gaze and the commanding voice of the Maître took over. 

 

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered. Albus began to disrobe, glad that he chose clothing that was loose-fitting and free of buttons so he could strip and redress with ease. When he was naked, the Maître beckoned him to the centre of the room and began securing the ropes around Albus’ wrists.

 

“How does that feel?” he asked. Albus rotated his wrists and nodded in approval.

 

“Feels fine, Master.”

 

“Good boy,” said the Maître. Drawing his wand, he tapped the rope and it began to slither like a silver snake up through the hoops, slowly forcing Albus to raise his arms and then to raise off of the flat of his feet onto his tiptoes before it stopped. Once he made sure Albus was comfortable but secure, the Maître picked up the black leather riding crop from the table, tapping it hard against his thigh as he slowly circled Albus, appreciating him from all angles. He really did look beautiful like this—cock hard, his muscles taut against the constraints, and completely at his mercy. He stood behind Albus and traced the tip of the riding crop along his broad shoulders, smirking as Albus twitched at the sensation.

 

“You have so much smooth, pale skin, my little Kelpie,” he sighed, dragging the tough leather of the whip across his flesh. “Too pale, in my opinion. Your body requires my ministrations in order to correct that.”

 

“You keep calling me that. Is it because I’m hung like a horse?” quipped Albus. 

 

_ Whack _ .

 

Albus drew a sharp breath, relishing the pleasant sting that erupted across his bare flesh on his left shoulder. 

 

“Insubordination will be punished,” the Maître warned.

 

“Maybe I want to be punished,” Albus challenged. 

 

Three successive cracks of the riding crop struck Albus’ arse, one above the other. He gritted his teeth and groaned, his thighs already beginning to shake a little as he felt the heat rising from his skin. 

 

The Maître stepped in front of Albus and thrust his chin up with the tip of the riding crop. Bringing their faces close together he hissed, “You’re a bratty little sub, aren’t you? You think you can trick me into punishing you by acting out? I am the Master, little Kelpie, remember that. I decide when you get punished.”

 

His voice was low and dangerous, but Albus noticed the outline of his erection in his trousers. He suppressed a smile, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him that he could elicit such a visceral reaction from his Master. The Maître raised his riding crop again to strike but paused, letting his arm fall limp by his side. He considered Albus closely for a few moments, deep in thought, then without warning he drew his wand and tapped the restraints around Albus’ wrists and they vanished. Albus watched, confused, as the Maître turned his back on him and placed his riding crop back into its holder. 

 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, panic rising in him. Maybe his cheek had pushed the Maître too far. 

 

“I warned you that insubordination would be punished,” he explained as he rummaged through a set of drawers in the corner of the room. “Whipping you isn’t really a punishment for you though, is it? You enjoy it too much. This however…” the Maître turned, a malicious grin spread across his face as he held out, to Albus’ horror, a chastity belt. “This would be a proper punishment for you, wouldn’t it? No pain and no pleasure for you my little Kelpie, not until you learn to behave yourself.”

 

Albus gaped at him. The leather chastity belt looked incredibly restrictive, particularly for someone as well-endowed as himself. He eyed the Maître uncertainly, “H-how long do I need to wear it for?”

 

The Maître shrugged, “A couple of days. Come back here on Wednesday evening and I’ll decide whether or not you’ve learned how to behave. Otherwise, you might be wearing it for the rest of the week.”

 

“Oh god,” groaned Albus. 

 

“Oh yes,” teased the Maître. “Two days, little Kelpie. And you  _ might  _ get a reward for your good behaviour. If you do need to remove it, just use the spell  _ Tentigo _ and it will release, but I will be very disappointed.”

 

Albus nodded and spread his legs, widening his stance and giving his consent for his Master to put the chastity belt on him. There was no way he would be taking this thing off before his Master gave him permission to do so.

  
  


  


 

Wednesday, March 2, 1904 was dreary and grey, the grounds saturated with March showers, but Albus had more important things to concern himself with than something so trivial as the weather. He had been wearing the chastity belt for almost three full days now and it had been a constant source of friction and frustration and Albus could feel a frenzy of need building within him. He couldn't wait until this evening when he would get to prove to his Master how obedient he had been these last few days.

 

He was walking around the room, watching his seventh year students attempt to transform a garden gnome into a tea kettle. He had been in the middle of commending Robert Levin on his first attempt—which did resemble a teapot on top, but unfortunately was still running around the table and letting out periodic flatulence—when he felt the first stirring from the belt, a barely-there vibration.

 

Before he could process it, the sensation was gone and he was sure that he had imagined it. He corrected Robert's wand movement—far too much flick—and had just called the class's attention to demonstrate the wand motion again when he felt it once more, and this time he was sure that he wasn't imagining it.

 

“Are you okay, Professor?” Marguerite's concerned inquiry jolted him from his shocked stupor and he realized that he had been standing slack-jawed as his class watched him expectantly. He quickly scanned the class full of students in horror, thinking that they must somehow sense what was happening, but all he found was a mix of yawning boredom, eager attentiveness, and mild concern.

 

“Yes, thank you. I'm quite alright. Now, if you will take note, it is important to not swing the wrist too vigorously during the motion.” Albus demonstrated the wand movement quickly, ignoring the pleasant sensation enveloping his penis, and then set the class back to practicing and took refuge behind his desk.

 

It was not a moment too soon, as he felt the restrictive band—his only saving grace up until this point—loosen slightly, allowing a small trickle of blood to flow into the stimulated flesh and begin to harden his prick.

 

“Ugh…Actually, I am feeling slightly unwell. Class is dismissed early today. You can use this extra time to study for your N.E.W.T.S.” The class looked surprised, but pleased, and began to pack up their things. Albus watched impatiently as the last few students finally made their way out into the corridor and then he pulled out his wand and cast a  _ Colloportus _ at the door with a sigh of relief.

 

_ Merlin’s balls, I have to get this thing off! _

 

Albus scrabbled to pull his robes up around his waist, unfasten his suspenders, and pull down his trousers and pants. He sunk into the chair and had his wand pointed at the torturous device, the  _ Tentigo _ on his lips, when he stopped. He really didn't want to disappoint his Master, and now that the children were no longer here, his feelings of horror and embarrassment were transitioning into arousal and excitement.

 

Albus reached out and set his wand down on his desk and gripped the armrests of his chair, settling himself in for this sweet torture.

  
  


  


 

Albus knocked on Gellert’s front door feverishly. He wasn’t supposed to be there ‘til nine o’clock, but the chastity belt was driving him to distraction and he was desperate to get it off. He had been fortunate that the vibrations hadn’t started until his final class of the day, but they continued through the late afternoon and into the evening and he had had to claim illness and have the house elves deliver dinner to his chambers, unwilling to risk a trip down to the Great Hall. He was proud that he had not only refrained from releasing the belt, but had even managed to keep from touching himself, knowing instinctively that would make his Master happy.

 

He waited a few moments, hopping from one foot to the other, which did little to abate his discomfort. Finally the door swung open and there stood Gellert, smiling serenely at him. 

 

“Albus,” he greeted him airily. “You’re early.”

 

“I know,” Albus groaned. “I hope that’s okay.”

 

“It’s fine,” he assured him, stepping aside to allow Albus to enter. “I just don’t like you being late. You know what happens if you turn up late.”

 

“Yes, Master,” Albus replied automatically, trying not to limp as he entered the darkened living room. Gellert chuckled and swished his wand above his head, causing the many candles in the room to ignite, bathing the room in soft light.

 

“We aren’t playing yet Albus, you don’t have to call me Master now.”

 

“I know, but—” Albus winced as he sat down on the camelback sofa. “I-I’m happy to start playing now. If you’d like.”

 

Gellert couldn’t help the smirk that teased the corner of his lips. He sat in the parlour chair and watched Albus writhe under his intense gaze.

 

“Are you in some discomfort, Albus?” he simpered. 

 

“Yes, Master,” he replied, his voice slightly strained. 

 

Gellert nodded sympathetically, “Yes, chastity belts can be quite uncomfortable, especially for a well-endowed colt like yourself. So, do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”

 

“Yes, Master,” Albus replied desperately. 

 

“And if we play, do you promise to behave yourself this time?”

 

“Yes, Master,” Albus repeated immediately. “Absolutely.” 

 

Gellert grinned broadly, “We’ll see.”

 

Gellert rose to his feet and walked across the room towards a long sideboard. Albus noticed curiously that it had a black silk sheet draped over it. He tore his gaze away from the sideboard to look at Gellert, who had his arms crossed and a stony expression.

 

“You’ve been a bad boy, my little Kelpie,” he whispered. “What is it going to take to train you?”

 

Albus felt like all of the blood in his body rushed towards his groin, leaving him feeling light-headed with arousal at the mere thought of what his Master was going to do to him. It was an uncomfortable sensation as the chastity belt restricted his erection. He only hoped he’d been well-behaved enough to be permitted to take it off. The Maître considered him carefully for a moment before he spoke again.

 

“Strip,” he ordered. Albus hesitated. 

 

“Strip here?” he asked uncertainly. “Not downstairs?”

 

“Did I say downstairs?” asked the Maître sharply. Albus blushed at questioning his Master and without further prompting he began to strip in the middle of the living room. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief as he slipped off the chastity belt, his achingly hard erection springing free the moment he pushed the infernal contraption down past his thighs. When he had shed all of his clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the camelback sofa, he waited for further instruction. The Maître gave Albus’ body an appreciative once-over.

 

“You’ve done well, little Kelpie. Very well indeed,” he said appraisingly. “I think it is time for your reward. Stand still,” he ordered, turning to face the sideboard. “Don’t move a muscle.”

 

Albus did as he was told, struggling to follow the Maître’s movements without turning his head. The Maître pulled back the silk sheet to reveal an assortment of metallic and leather instruments and Albus couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of them. Albus panicked a little as he saw the Maître pick up what he thought was another chastity belt, but as he stepped back towards Albus he realised curiously that it was a jockstrap; the same kind that he had seen the man Gellert had been playing with at the club wearing. The Maître reached around Albus’ waist and attached the belt strap before tucking his cock into the holder. Giving Albus’ arse a light squeeze for no other reason than because it pleased him to do so, he turned back to the sideboard and picked up a T-shaped spreader bar that had a dragon-leather collar and cuffs. He walked behind Albus and carefully brushed his long, auburn hair from his neck, the feather-light graze of his fingertips causing goosebumps to erupt across his flesh.

 

“I’m going to put this around your neck,” the Maître explained softly. “Let me know if it is too tight.”

 

He slipped the soft leather collar around Albus’ neck and began to fasten it, making it snug enough that it rested comfortably against his skin but not so tight as to restrict his breathing.

 

“Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered. Albus obeyed, waiting patiently as the Maître fastened the cuffs around his wrists. 

 

“How does that feel?” he asked. Albus flexed his wrists and neck, meeting some resistance but nothing was tight enough to pinch his skin or restrict circulation.

 

“Feels good, Master,” he confirmed quietly. The Maître smiled appraisingly at him, enjoying the rich blue-green glow of the ring casting beams of light onto Albus’ freckled back, then turned wordlessly back to the sideboard, picking up the leg spreader before lowering onto his knees in front of Albus’ very erect cock. The Maître smirked and brought his lips close to the already sodden fabric covering his erection. 

 

“So keen…” he teased, running his finger up the shaft towards the tip. Albus gasped and his cock twitched at the sensation, but he remained stock-still, resisting the temptation to thrust his hips forward. 

 

“You’re showing an incredible amount of restraint,” the Maître noted, pushing Albus’ legs further apart before securing the leather cuffs around his ankles. “Perhaps we’re making progress with your training after all.”

 

He rose to his feet and gave Albus’ cock a slight tug, baring his teeth menacingly as he did so, “Get on your knees.”

 

Albus immediately dropped to his knees without a second thought, ready and willing for whatever reward his Master saw fit to deal him. The Maître drew the riding crop from its holder and held it out for Albus’ perusal. 

 

“Let’s see if you can hold your tongue this time, hmm?” he teased. Without warning, the Maître swung the crop down and struck Albus’ right nipple.

 

“Fuck!” he shouted, the pale skin immediately blooming red as the sharp sting subsided and a pleasant warmth spread across his chest. The Maître struck again on the left nipple this time, but Albus had been better prepared for it so he gritted his teeth and rode the wave of pain and pleasure as his Master continued to place strategic strikes across his abdomen, his shoulders, the front of his thighs. 

 

“The only time I want you to use your tongue is when I give you permission to,”  the Maître warned. “Understood?”

 

_ Whack. _

 

Another strike, this time across both arse cheeks, causing Albus to grunt and twist against his restraints. They clinked noisily as he tried to move, but there was nowhere to go. 

 

“Yes, Master,” he grunted, his breaths coming out in sharp panting breaths now. Days of pent up frustration meant he was already teetering towards the edge. He felt like his whole body was throbbing—his stomach, his arse cheeks, his cock—his entire body was pulsing with arousal, another few blows from the riding crop and he’d come. Hard. The Maître continued his ministrations on Albus’ arse,  _ whack whack whack _ . Albus groaned and his back bowed. Just one more strike was all it would take...

 

“Stand up,” the Maître commanded. Albus’ head was swimming and he could barely breath, barely think, let alone stand. But he didn’t want to displease his Master. Slowly, despite the violent shaking of his legs and the throbbing pain on his arse and the back of his legs, despite struggling against his restraints, he began to rise.

 

“Up! Up!” shouted the Maître, cracking his whip against his thigh. With a herculean effort, Albus rose to his feet. He straightened his back and closed his eyes, taking a moment to catch his breath. The Maître gently brushed Albus’ damp hair out of his face and gave him a warm smile.

 

“Good boy,” he crooned. He inclined his head and said, “Bend over the sideboard.”

 

With some difficulty, Albus shuffled over to the sideboard and bent over it, his torso already slick with perspiration, sliding against its smooth, high-polished surface. The wood felt pleasantly cool against his heated skin, soothing the welts rising across his chest and stomach. A thrill of excitement shot through Albus as he felt the outline of his Master’s erection press against his rear. The Maître wordlessly summoned one of the many candles and caught it in his outstretched hand. Albus’ eyes widened as the Maître held it out for his perusal. 

 

“Would you like me to mark you, little Kelpie?” he offered. “That way you can feel a part of me wherever you go.”

 

“Fuck yes,” groaned Albus. There was nothing he wanted more. The Maître raised the candle high above Albus and began to drizzle wax along his shoulder blades.

 

“Fuuuuuuck,” he hissed.

 

“Too much?” asked the Maître, pausing. Albus gritted his teeth and shook his head.

 

“No, Master,” he huffed out in a forced breath. “Keep going.”

 

The Maître continued, drawing long lines of liquid from each of his shoulders down to meet at a point in the dip of his lower back, forming the shape of a triangle. As he continued to mark his symbol across his little Kelpie’s flesh like a brand, he marveled at how the muscles in his back twitched and trembled as the hot wax struck his skin, but he held his tongue, as requested. The Maître smiled to himself; this would certainly be his masterpiece. 

 

As he poured the final strip of wax down the centre of his spine, Albus cried out and his back bowed as he came, the restraints clinking and clattering as his body began to shake. The Maître felt an intense wave of pleasure pulse through him at the sight of the man beneath him, his beautiful pale skin enflamed a sublime shade of pink and little beads of sweat trickling down his lean back, taut with tension and arousal. And his arse—he gave it a hard smack and Albus shivered and whimpered—primed and ready to fuck. He really was a sight to behold. 

 

He blew out the candle and placed it carefully on the sideboard, listening patiently as Albus’ breathing began to slow and even out again. 

 

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yes, Master,” slurred Albus, his expression dreamy and contented. “Thank you.”

 

“You earned it,” he replied. “Good behaviour reaps rewards. Now…” he nudged his cock against Albus’ entrance again. “Are you ready for me to fuck you?”

 

“Yes, Master, please…” he whimpered, trying to press his hips back against the Maître’s aching length. In terms of intimacy and submission, the only other thing on par to allowing the Maître to mark his skin was to get fucked by him. It would make him feel as though he really truly belonged to his Master. Branded, fucked and owned by the Maître de la Petite Mort. He could think of nothing he wanted more. 

 

Albus let out a low, guttural moan as the Maître slid his cock inside of him then stilled, giving him a moment to catch his breath. When he withdrew on the next stroke, Albus cried out as the Maître’s cock grazed against his prostate, rubbing it again on his reclaiming. A sharp spark of pleasure rushed through his pelvis and up his spine, so intense that it was almost overwhelming. The Maître gripped Albus’ hips tightly and picked up speed and the pleasure intensified, spreading outwards from his groin through his whole body to the tips of his toes. He was so lost in the spiral of grunts and panting breaths and rattling chains, so lost to the exquisite pain and pleasure his Master imparted to him, everything else in the world seemed to melt away and disappear. There was only him and his Master and it was perfect.

 

The Maître continued to piston his hips back and forth, but he was so close now, it would only take a couple more strokes to make him come. A whimper escaped his lips and he felt his balls tighten, teetering on the edge. Gripping Albus’ hips tightly he thrust his hips forward and grunted, “Good…” drew back and thrust in again, coming this time as he groaned, “Boy.” 

 

The Maître collapsed forward onto Albus’ back, his head spinning. He felt his little Kelpie trembling beneath him and ran his hands covetously through his hair, down his beaten and branded back and across the globes of his perfect, perk arse. 

 

“That’s what you get when you behave,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. As Gellert released Albus from his restraints, he turned to face Gellert and kissed him. Kissing was not something that Gellert would normally allow a submissive, but the look on Albus’ face when he broke the kiss—an expression of lust, admiration, and submission—made him feel powerful and humbled to have another person look at him with such reverence. He would have to endeavour to earn it. 


	6. A Tale of Two Brothers

“Well, if it isn’t the big bad Wulf. I hope you’re not here to blow this club down.”

 

Albus rolled his eyes as Capra gave him a cheeky wink. Albus had come to learn that the man was an incorrigible flirt, but it was all for good fun—and tips. Albus and Capra had become quite friendly over the past few months and he had learned that Capra was very much enamoured with his boyfriend of several years and that he was working here so that they could save up enough money to buy their own place together.

 

“How’s that boyfriend of yours, Kay? Ready to leave him and run away together yet?” Albus joked.

 

Capra pretended to consider the offer for a moment before he replied, “Sorry, today’s not your lucky day, Wulf. The usual?”

 

Albus nodded and Capra poured him a snifter of Dragon Barrel Brandy. Albus slowly rotated the glass between his hands, warming the liquid inside, and then took a deep sniff. Befriending the attractive young barman had proved convenient when it had come time to restock the bar’s alcohol stores, as Capra had ordered a particularly coveted vintage of the brandy for his favourite customer. Albus had been very grateful; this was definitely a significant improvement over the dusty old bottle he’d been served from when he first started coming to the club.

 

“So where’s your darker half?” Capra asked as he dried glasses behind the bar.

 

“He’s in the back rooms performing.” At his answer, Capra’s eyebrows shot up and he gave Albus a strange look.

 

“And you’re...okay with that? Don’t you get...you know...jealous?”

 

Albus shrugged. “A little bit, but it just makes the sex we have after that much more satisfying.” Albus gave his friend a shy smile as he felt his cheeks heat up remembering the last time they’d come back from the club. Albus had spent a good chunk of the evening watching Gellert—weirdly, he only ever thought of him as “the Maître” when it was the two of them playing now—paddling an older gentleman, growing increasingly agitated as the mark he had grown to love seeing on his own skin so much emerged on the stranger’s erythematous flesh.

 

By the evening’s end, Albus was feeling practically feral and he had pounced on Gellert as soon as they’d stepped inside the man’s door. Albus had thrown the other man up against the wall and had attacked his face, hands tearing at clothes. It was completely unlike most of their encounters, with Albus battling for dominance, needing to lay claim to the other man. Gellert had seemed to understand the burning need Albus was feeling, but was unwilling to cede total control to Albus; he had wrestled Albus to the ground, vanished their clothes, and before he knew what was happening, Gellert had reached behind and lined up Albus’ cock with his entrance and, with a whispered lubrification spell, had sat on his cock in one fluid movement.

 

The burning pain of the rapid impalement must not have been unwelcome as Gellert had linked their hands together and slammed them down on the floor, just to the side of Albus’ head, and had proceeded to ride Albus’ cock with quick lifts and thrusts of his hips. The two had stared into each other’s eyes, their faces so close that their breaths mingled, until it had become too intense and Albus had lost himself inside Gellert for the first time. It had been revelatory.

 

Albus shook himself out of his recollection and looked back up at Capra. “We talked about it and he really enjoys the power rush from having someone submit to him in front of an audience. That’s not really one of my interests though; I prefer to keep what happens between the two of us between the two of us. As long as he doesn’t hide it from me and we’re honest with each other, I’m comfortable with him playing with other people here at the club.”

 

“Well, that’s...accepting of you. I don’t think I could ever handle seeing my boyfriend get another guy off. Hey, speaking of which, I was thinking that we should all have dinner, if you’re interested. I’d really like you to meet him.”

 

“Oh,” Albus reached up and fingered the phoenix mask he was wearing.

 

“If you’re worried about revealing your identity, then don’t worry about it. There’s no pressure,” Capra assured him. “But just so you know, you can trust me. I won’t divulge anything I’ve learned about you to anyone else.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Albus cleared his throat, trying to formulate his thoughts. “I just...this just took me by surprise. I do trust you, Kay, and yes, I’d love to have dinner with you and your boyfriend. How about on Friday?”

 

“Friday is great!” Capra’s excitement was infectious and Albus gave his friend a wide smile.

 

“What’s happening on Friday?” A familiar voice whispered against his ear as strong hands settled on his hips, pulling him back against a very familiar body.

 

Albus craned his neck to look back over his shoulder, giving the man a quick kiss at the corner of his cupid’s bow lips that he loved so much. “I’m having dinner with Kay,” Albus could feel the fingers at his hips dig in to his flesh and he couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk that flitted across his lips, “and his boyfriend.”

 

The fingers eased their grip and Albus grabbed the opportunity to rub his arse back against the erection he could feel teasing his behind. He was so distracted that he almost missed Gellert’s next words, “Friday sounds great. How about we go to the York Minster?”

 

Capra’s mouth was hanging open in shock and Albus whipped around to face Gellert. “You want to come with us?”

 

Gellert simply shrugged. “Sure, why not? Unless you don’t want me there?” he asked, his gaze slowly tracking from Albus to Capra and back again.

 

Capra seemed to shake himself and managed to stutter out a response, “No, no. That’s...that’s fine. You’re welcome to join us...uh…”

 

“Gellert. You can call me Gellert, Capra.” Gellert held out his hand to Capra, who stood there staring at it in confusion. “It’s customary to shake hands when meeting someone...officially,” Gellert had an amused smile on his face.

 

Capra seemed to come to the conclusion that he found the gesture amusing and chuckled before taking the proffered hand and shaking it. “A pleasure to meet you, Gellert. We’d be happy if you joined us for dinner on Friday. The York Minster sounds perfect.”

 

Gellert turned back to Albus and raised his eyebrows, the question unspoken. “Yeah...um… yeah. That would be… great. I would never have thought you would want to come, but I would love it if you would come with me.” Albus was feeling a bubble of excitement rise up inside of him. This felt significant. So far they had spent plenty of time together, but it had exclusively been within the club or at Gellert’s house. This would be their first appearance together in public. Albus was having a bit of trouble picturing Gellert in a run-of-the-mill Muggle pub—his raw charisma and personality always seeming to fill whatever space he was in—but he was delighted that Gellert had invited himself along with them.

 

Friday was going to be so much fun.

  
  


  


 

“Why do you look so nervous, little Kelpie?”

 

Albus forced himself to stop his leg twitching. “Kay’s my friend, and I want to make a good impression. What if the boyfriend doesn’t like me or something? And WHY do you keep calling me your little Kelpie?”

 

Gellert gave him an appraising look and then leaned forward across the table and took Albus’s twitching fingers into his hands. “I take it you don’t know much about kelpies?” At Albus’ affirmative head nod, Gellert continued, “Kelpies are very powerful and dangerous magical creatures. They will lure unsuspecting people into the water and onto their backs, and then they will drag them underwater to devour them. But if a wizard can manage to place a bridle on them, they are rendered docile and harmless to their master. From that first moment in the club, when I saw that ring light up the room in the most beautiful turquoise colour I’d ever seen, I knew I wanted to tame that wild beast inside you. I’d never seen one of the rings light up a room like that before. I knew that you must be a very powerful wizard, and I wanted to be the Master of such a wealth of fierce power.”

 

Albus felt his mouth go dry at Gellert’s words, for once sounding like the truth of the pet name that he’d given Albus. Albus was tempted to grab Gellert and Apparate them out of here and stand Capra up, but before he could make the proposition, Gellert interrupted his thoughts. “So what’s this dream boyfriend’s name anyway?”

 

Albus startled at Gellert’s question, realizing that he’d never actually thought to ask Capra what his boyfriend’s name was. He supposed that the emphasis on anonymity at the club made it seem normal to just always refer to him as “the boyfriend”. “I don’t actually know. Does that make me a bad friend?”

 

Gellert rolled his eyes. “Honestly? It does a little bit, but here comes your chance to correct your mistake,” Gellert was looking over Albus’s shoulder, watching Capra and the famous boyfriend approaching their table. Albus set his Muggle brandy—which would, sadly, never compare to his preferred Dragon Barrel—down on the table and pushed himself up to greet the men.

 

He gave Capra a quick hug in greeting and then turned towards the other man, who he just noticed had ceased his approach several feet away. A jolt of shock froze Albus’s muscles and he stood staring dumbstruck at the mysterious boyfriend he’d heard so much about. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Gellert was exchanging confused looks between the mysterious man and his lover, obviously noting that something was happening but unsure what it could possibly be.

 

“Is everything alright Albus?” Gellert’s question floated across the air between them, their gazes locked and Albus afraid to make the first move. Fortunately, he was saved from doing so by the other man breaking their silence first.

 

“Albus. It’s...good to see you,” the other man stuttered out the greeting nervously as he cleared his throat and convulsively swallowed.

 

Capra turned to Gellert, “Don’t worry. They just haven’t seen each other in a few years. They just need some time to process.”

 

“You KNEW?!” The two voices could be heard in stereo as the two men temporarily forgot about each other and turned in outrage towards the bartender, who stared back defiantly at the two estranged siblings.

 

Capra ignored their outburst and took a seat at the table with Gellert. “Let’s all just sit down and order drinks and then we can talk about it like the mature grown-ups I know we all strive to be.”

 

The two men, still in shock, shuffled themselves around the table and took their respective seats beside their partners. Albus found that he couldn’t look at his brother now that the initial surprise was starting to wear off, afraid that he would set off the anger that he knew his brother still harboured for him and causing him to stalk out. He couldn’t believe that he found himself sitting across from his brother right now after over 4 years of being strangers to one another and he didn’t want anything to mess up this gift he’d been given.

 

Gellert looked around the table at the mixture of tension, unease, and anger on the faces of his dinner companions and decided to try to lighten the mood. “Are any of you going to remember your manners and perform the introductions?”

 

He barely contained a laugh when all three men turned to him with annoyance. Gellert extended his hand across the table to Albus’s brother in a proffered handshake, “I’m Gellert.”

 

The man’s gaze dropped to his hand for a brief moment, looking like he was debating between taking the offered handshake or making a break for it, and then his hand appeared from under the table and grasped Gellert’s in a firm grip. “Aberforth. Aberforth Dumbledore.”

 

Gellert shook the man’s hand and expressed his pleasure to meet him, while he slid his other hand up and around Albus’ thigh under the table, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He could tell that Albus was shaken and uncertain and Gellert’s protective instincts were flaring, desperate to assuage his fears.

 

A tense silence smothered the table as the waitress came over to take their orders and they waited for their drinks to arrive. Once everyone had been served their pot-valor of choice, Aberforth turned to Capra, “Explain yourself, please, Kay.”

 

Capra took a big breath and began relating the story. “I wasn’t entirely sure, but I had a hunch. I only started getting suspicious about it last week after you were telling me that story about when you were children and Albus disturbed that Doxy nest and you both had to be rushed to St. Mungo’s for an antidote. You joked that your brother has more names than sense and when you told me that one of his middle names is Wulfric and I thought it was funny that it was so similar to Wulf here’s name...or should I say Albus.”

 

Capra turned to Albus, “Remember how I was asking you last week about whether you had any siblings? Well, you didn’t go into too many specifics, but what you told me seemed to fit with what I knew about Abe’s siblings.” Capra shrugged, “I figured that if I got you both together and my hunch was wrong, then there would be no harm done, but if my hunch was right, then maybe I can help bring some peace to someone I love and someone that I care about.”

 

Albus gave his brother a wistful look before turning back to Capra. “I appreciate the effort Kay, but it’s not that simple. My brother blames me for our sister and mother’s deaths. I wasn’t there when he thinks I should have been, and he’s right. I wasn’t there. I hope that he’ll be able to forgive me when he’s ready, but it can’t be forced.”

 

“You have to tell him, Abe. I understand why you were afraid to tell him the truth before, but you obviously didn’t have the full picture.” Capra paused and gestured across the table at Albus and Gellert. “It’s not fair to him.”

 

Albus turned his confused gaze on his brother, scanning his face for any hints to what Capra was talking about. Aberforth stared down at the table, running his finger along a wood grain in nervous agitation. Albus leaned forward in his chair, Gellert’s hand slipping further up his thigh, but he was too preoccupied to even take notice of something that would normally have commanded all of his attention.

 

Capra brought his arm up and along the breadth of Aberforth’s shoulders, rubbing a soothing pattern into his tensed shoulders. Aberforth seemed to ease at the gesture and let out a big breath. “That wasn’t the reason why I cut off contact with you. I was angry with you, sure, but I wasn’t there that day either, so I could hardly have held that against you without painting myself as a hypocrite. It was… it was Kay. I met Kay when I was in seventh year and he was working at the Hog’s Head and I...I realized I was attracted to men and...I thought you’d hate me.”

 

There was a protracted silence around the table and then Aberforth’s head shot up at the sound of his brother’s outcry. “You pillock! You mean to tell me that the reason I haven’t seen my brother in four years is because you’re gay?”

 

Aberforth bit his lower lip nervously and Capra gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, both waiting with bated breath for Albus to give his final judgement.

 

“Abe, even if I wasn’t also a ‘basket grabber’ of the highest order myself,” at Albus’ proclamation, Gellert let out a very uncharacteristic snort of laughter, “you’re my brother. I love you. How could you ever think that I would hate you?”

 

Albus pushed his chair back from the table and stood up abruptly, walking around the end of the table and dropping down to his knees beside his brother and pulling him into a tight hug. Aberforth was shocked immobile for a moment until he seemed to regain control of his limbs and threw them around Albus, hardly daring to believe that after so many years of angst, he finally had his big brother back.

 

“I thought you hated me,” Albus’ muffled voice came from where his head was resting against Aberforth’s shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

 

“I could never hate you, big brother. I’m sorry that I was a coward and had so little faith in you.” A hiccough of a sob escaped Aberforth and he ducked his head against Albus’ shoulder, embarrassed to be making such a scene in public.

 

“Shall we order then?” Gellert asked, infusing the table with a renewed feeling of normality, like something monumental hadn’t just occurred.

 

At Gellert’s prompt, Albus let out a bark of ecstatic laughter and reluctantly released his brother before circling back around the table to his seat and sliding into it. Under the table, Albus reached out and took Gellert’s hand, interlacing their fingers together and thanked Merlin that he had let Bathilda talk him into going to the club all those months ago. He now had everything he could imagine wanting.

 

He’d better start saving up for her Christmas present now.


End file.
